My Narrative Essay

Dear Mrs. Corman,

I'm sorry that it was late comming in but I had no access to a computer this weekend and had other work that needed to be done. I hope you enjoy this essay and if there are any comments or areas you would like to discuss with me that would be very much so appreciated.

Sincerely,
Oryanna Pearce
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English 11: Narrative Essay Oryanna
Salem Lake March 9th, 2007.

I lay awake in bed awaiting the gleaming sunshine through the windowpanes, as I have every morning for as long as I can remember. The gentle morning breeze passes through the cracks in my cedar home giving me a fairly good understanding that the dew had just set in about an hour ago, and the sun would be rising shortly. It is not every morning I find myself lying awake, but I know that it’s best not to get up and out of bed until the sun begins to rise. I think to myself
“What did I have to do today?” pondering the steps I’d take to keep myself busy. I find that everyday there is less and less I can do to improve on the natural camp-like experience.

Just as I start to create a clearing picture the rays of joy creak through the stained glass window and pour out onto my pillow. “It is time to get up and start this bright and beautiful day.” I reassure myself, “I hope it doesn’t rain again like it was last week.” Unlike most springs, I had no campers booked to come in for another week, and I was already prepared for any group to pop in and stay for a while. How I missed having people around all the time. It gets so lonely out here on my own now that Muriel has passed away. The kettle begins to purr while I am sitting at the table, waiting to hear the whistle. Peering around my small cabin I looked to see if there was anything I could keep myself busy with until the sun had risen some more. The inside of cabin was unnaturally tidy for a lonely single old man, I had tried my best to keep it the way Muriel would’ve liked it.

The kettle squeals breaking my train of thought entirely, I get up from my restful sit and begin to pour the hot water into the tea pot to steep for it’s usually 3 minutes or so while I start the fire. My tea was ready, it was starting to warm up and the sun had gotten bright enough for me to go outside and collect up some firewood. Routines ran my life, every Wednesday I go collect firewood for not only my cabin but make sure that the other three cabins around the lake are stocked as well. I wander out of my humble home into a vast B.C. rain forest of cedars and spruce. The smell of dew fills my nostrils with a pleasant scent of the forest, and shadows formed by the old trees that danced on the brush and dirt below them. Ah! How I love the forest, a free paradise away from the busy and bustling city life of which I detested so greatly.
Caught up in my thoughts of how peaceful the forest is I passed right by my usual spot for chopping wood and had to backtrack to it. Now that I am older I need to start paying more attention to my chores and than have myself some leisure time.
I pulled a large log up from off the ground and began to chop away at it gradually. The longer it took me the more I began to heed my daughter’s advice.
“Dad you are getting too old for this, you need to start having some of the small tasks done for you. Even if you just ordered quarts of firewood out there and paid someone to put them out for you.” But at the time I didn’t want to listen I enjoyed my life style and wasn’t going to change it for the world.
“The less modernized my camp is the better the experience the campers seem to have with it.” I argued, although I knew her intentions were well I didn’t want to see my camp begin to be run by advances in technology and wanted it to be as realistic of an experience that I could make it.

Completely self absorbed into my thoughts I rush through chopping wood for the campsites and my own little cottage. Carrying a heavy armful of logs almost seamlessly as the ground is taken out from underneath my feet. All I remember is the sky seeming further and further away and large sharp pain in my leg. I had fallen into a bear trap that had been set up many summer’s ago by Muriel and myself. Not only was my leg bleeding profusely, but also I was starting to lose consciousness. The only thought at that moment that went through my head was my daughter’s words that were last spoken to me. I knew I needed help around me and it was too late now to call out for it. In my newly doomed state I remembered some events of my daughter’s childhood, a younger Muriel and I couldn’t stop thinking about the irony present in my current situation. The one time I didn’t heed my daughter’s words would be my last, as I slipped away into a deep sleep that I was never to wake up from.

Awakened as if by an angel I could hear my daughter’s voice at the end of a lit tunnel.
“Daddy! Please wake up I need you, don’t leave me.” Was this truly heaven? I thought to myself,
“Jacob, you cannot go yet dear it isn’t your time. A few more years in you yet I’m afraid.” A familiar voice chanted in a soothing tone it was at that moment that I saw my dear Muriel’s warm and soothing face. “I love you.” Were the last words spoken as I was pulled out of the darkness and into Carrie’s arms,

“I wish I would’ve not listened to you and spent my own money for someone to come take care of you. Than none of this would’ve ever happened.” My eyes opened softly to see Carrie’s face covered in tears, I smiled. Almost squealing in happiness she held me tight.
“The paramedics will be here soon father, so just rest up easy you’re going to need it.” She reassured me.

Unable to speak a word I nodded. I felt so helpless lying in her arms like a child again. We had exchanged roles now I could no longer take care of her or myself for that matter. And even with these thoughts I felt calm and easy about knowing that I would be there for my child and that Muriel was there for me, watching over me like a guardian angel.